


Doubt Thou?

by theladyrainbow



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Anthony is a simp, Anthony likes getting told off by Kate, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Anthony, Let's all give it up for Kate Sheffield, Married Couple, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Kate, Queen of Comebacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyrainbow/pseuds/theladyrainbow
Summary: “Tell me, Lady Bridgerton, do you like the opera?”Lord Haymore asked the question oh so innocently, but Kate responded smoothly without missing a beat, as if she had an answer rehearsed time and time again in her mind.“I adore music, Lord Haymore, but I confess I am partial to the spoken word.” Kate looked him straight in the eye, as if issuing a challenge. “We keep boxes at both Drury Lane and Covent Garden, of course, but I would much rather listen to a soliloquy than an aria.”Or: the appearance of an old friend of Anthony's provokes Kate's catty side. She doesn't like the opera.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 18
Kudos: 227





	Doubt Thou?

**Author's Note:**

> “I don’t tell tales, of course,” she murmured, quite purposefully not looking at him, “but really, have you ever seen me attend the opera?”
> 
> Gregory felt his brows lift. Clearly there was an opera singer somewhere in his brother’s past. 
> 
> Excerpt From: Julia Quinn. “On the Way to the Wedding.”

“Haymore’s visiting from Denmark, by the way.”

Simon had said it so casually while they were having a drink at White’s that Anthony had to ask him to repeat what he’d said. The Duke of Hastings could only laugh.

A year ago, a visit from Lord Albert Haymore, son of the Marquess of Mowbray, would have made Anthony unsteady with excitement. The man was a bacchanalian legend in England, and Simon and Anthony had spent a good amount of their Oxford days following the man around in drunken revelry wreaking havoc. Indeed, every Dionysian rite of passage an aristocrat should have had, Anthony had Albert Haymore to thank for his introduction. Shortly after university, Haymore left for Denmark on a diplomatic post but whenever he visited, Anthony was always guaranteed a mythical night out across the seediest brothels and pubs, drinking much to his heart’s content that he would never be able to remember anything the next morning.

Why, just shy of two years ago when Lord Haymore visited last and it seemed they’d run London out of ale, Anthony had woken up being licked at the cheek by deer at Richmond Park. He and Albert and their other friends could not remember how they arrived there, miles away from where they started in London, only that they all looked pretty pleased with themselves.

He knew an invitation to join Albert on another evening of debauchery that would surely make its way to fables was inevitable, and while the old Anthony wouldn’t even have bothered waiting for a formal invitation, the new Anthony was, well, married.

Married for just over a year now.

Somehow, the thought of having Kate—pregnant with his child, mind you—mad with worry that he could end up in a bloody boat to Calais if he joined Lord Haymore’s night out did not sit well with him. In fact, he found himself having no desire to even share a drink with Lord Haymore. If he were being honest with himself, he would much prefer to massage Kate’s aching feet.

“Hells, Simon. I can’t.” Anthony scoffed, swirling his brandy in his glass. Simon shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I won’t participate either—whatever he’s planning I’ll have no part of it.” Simon drawled, his lips drawing into a smirk. “We’re not twenty anymore.” 

“He’ll be at the Smythe-Smith musicale tonight, I presume.” Anthony said, remembering his schedule for the day. “We’ll pre-empt his invitation and decline then.”

“Best keep him away from Kate.” Simon barked in laughter. “She knows you were a rake, but I wouldn’t put it past him to tell her _how much_ of a rake you were.” 

“Dear God.” Anthony muttered. If there was another thing he knew about Lord Haymore, it was that he took a certain pleasure in embarrassing his friends in front of the ladies they were courting or married to. Indeed, as their little fraternity eventually broke apart to marry or settle down, he never missed the opportunity regale their women with tales of their bachelorhood.

He would have to keep Kate away from Haymore at all costs—if only to not distress her very pregnant, very hormonal body.

But Haymore would not be discouraged. Indeed, that same evening at the Smythe-Smith musicale, it was no surprise to Anthony that the first thing he did was wrangle an introduction to the Viscountess Bridgerton, which Anthony begrudgingly gave. To his supreme irritation, Haymore seemed to find Kate an absolute delight.

“You cannot be Anthony’s wife!” Haymore put his hand over his heart in mock disbelief after he had kissed Kate’s hand. “No, ‘tis impossible. The Gods could not have allowed this to happen. Tell me beautiful lady, how did the beast ever steal you from your tower?”

Kate laughed, which made Anthony even more annoyed. She was _his_ Kate. She was not allowed to laugh at any other man’s jokes, especially Haymore’s.

“You are quite the poet, Lord Haymore.” Kate said, grinning ear to ear. Her cheeks had become softly rounded during her pregnancy, and it made her even look more ravishing, a fact that was not lost on the ton. “I wonder why my husband hasn’t mentioned such a good friend like you before?”

“I know the reason.” Simon snorted, giving Anthony a knowing look. Anthony glared at him. 

“I’ve been in Denmark this whole time, Lady Bridgerton.” Lord Haymore said, his charm turning up. "I haven't been home for two years, I believe?" 

“And are you back in England to stay or…”

“He’s leaving soon.” Anthony spoke before Haymore could say anything else.

“Which is why I’d be grateful if I could borrow your husband for a night out with the lads after the musicale, Lady Bridgerton?” Lord Haymore asked, his smile ever so unfailingly lovely. Anthony wanted to smash his fist against it. 

“Oh, please do!” Kate laughed. Anthony looked at her, aghast. That was not an answer he had been expecting. He would have to set her straight. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Anthony. As much as I love your company, you have been _fretting_ over me like a madman ever since I told you I was with child. God knows I need some time to myself, and _you_ need time to let loose.”

“Oh, trust me, Lady Bridgerton, if I were married to a beautiful woman like you, I’d never—”

“Enough!” Anthony hadn’t intended to bark that out, but the damage was done. Simon looked ready to choke on his drink. Haymore was unabashedly chuckling, holding his hand over his mouth. “We should take our seats. I think they will be starting soon.”

“I’ll sit with you—” Lord Haymore started, but Anthony cut him off.

“Mrs. Smythe-Smith always makes sure the eligible bachelors are seated at the front.” Anthony grinned at his friend. “They would take offense if you did not sit at your assigned seat. Come, Kate, mother and Eloise have saved us seats at the back. We’ll see you after the musicale, Albert!”

Anthony didn’t even realise he had rushed all that in one breath, and by the time he was finished walking Kate to where the other Bridgertons were seated, he realised his breathing had become shallow and uneven.

“That was very rude of you, Anthony.” Kate admonished. “Your friend hasn’t seen in you a long time and—”

“Shh, Kate, I believe the musicale is starting.” Anthony said, noting the Smythe-Smith ladies had entered the room and had taken their place by their instruments. Kate rolled her eyes. Her husband’s possessive streak was adorable, but it could be too much sometimes.

The first notes were struck.

Nobody ever looked forward to the _music_ of a Smythe-Smith musicale, but Anthony found himself enraptured by the entire convoluted performance. Kate seemed to be pleased by the entire thing, although Anthony thought that was more because she now had confirmation that she was not the worst musician in London and that gave her a sense of strange pride. Anthony held Kate’s hand tight, telling her in his own way that he was not going to be leaving her alone to participate in whatever debauchery Lord Haymore had planned, that she better look forward to another evening of being _fretted over_ , and as punishment for her implication, she better know that he would be giving her _twice_ the usual amount of fretting.

He said this all with a squeeze of a hand. He was confident Kate understood. She always understood. She kept her hand nestled comfortably against his, as if acknowledging his unsaid statement. Anthony was content. 

However, when the Smythe-Smith ladies began to play the familiar notes from a classic Barcarolle, Kate suddenly tugged her hand away from him. She set her lips in a straight line and looked steadily ahead, her eyes stony. She looked stiff as a statue. Anthony wondered at the change in her demeanour, and the cellist struck a wrong note. He inwardly groaned. Anyone’s demeanour would change upon hearing _that._

Anthony found himself looking at the back of Haymore’s head and he suddenly found himself wishing the performance would go on longer. Unfortunately, he only had a few moments to think on his wish before the ladies struck the final chords of the Barcarolle. They stood up and bowed.

The entire audience applauded. Anthony clapped as well, hoping it would spur an encore and he could keep Kate away from Haymore much longer, but he knew as well as anyone that _nobody_ in the ton would sit through an encore of a Smythe-Smith performance. Kate only clapped twice and left it at that. Anthony found that odd.

_Perhaps she’s tired and wants to go home,_ Anthony thought, the idea of that making him feel giddy. He could not wait to use her as an excuse so they could go home and cocoon themselves in each other’s love and company. However, he knew they had to be polite and say their greetings and congratulations first.

Reluctantly, he helped Kate stand up and after a quick conversation with one of the Smythe-Smith girls, they joined Benedict and Lord Haymore who were chatting animatedly on one side of the parlour. In a swift, familiar, practiced motion, Anthony easily handed Kate a glass of cordial from the tray of a liveried attendant, and she gratefully drank.

“Well, that was an _interesting_ rendition of Vivaldi…” Benedict sniggered, unable to keep his face straight. “I swear, I don’t know why mother _insists_ we come to _this_ every year.”

“Four pretty unmarried Smythe-Smith ladies, Benedict?” Kate teased. “Do you truly not know why your mother insisted on your attendance?”

“Truly, it wasn’t all that bad. The Barcarolle was _decent_.” Anthony said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He looked at Kate, knowing she would find that funny as well. Instead, she gave him an odd look.

“ _You_ would know what a decent Barcarolle would be, Bridgerton.” Haymore chuckled, giving Anthony a knowing look.

Anthony quickly realised the implication and stared Haymore down. His fingers itched for his glove, knowing full well that if Haymore took the conversation to dangerous territory while Kate was present, then he would have no choice but to slap the bloody glove on his cheek and demand satisfaction. There'd be pistols at dawn instead of a hangover. 

Benedict, aware of the tension, cleared his throat.

“I am of the belief that one cannot enjoy a Barcarolle unless it is on a gondola in Venice, Haymore.” Benedict said, the words easy in his mouth. He craned his neck around the room, searching. “I believe Colin has the most interesting story about that—where is our brother anyway?”

Haymore, however, could not be swayed.

“Tell me, Lady Bridgerton, do you like the opera?” 

_Stillness._

Lord Haymore asked the question oh so innocently, but Anthony knew better, and his hands shook with murderous intent. Benedict had caught on as well and his face displayed a look of affront. Before the younger Bridgerton could put his arm over Anthony to prevent him from doing something stupid, Kate responded smoothly without missing a beat.

“I adore music, Lord Haymore, but I confess I am partial to the spoken word.” Kate looked him straight in the eye, as if issuing a challenge. The glass of cordial swirled easily in her fingers like she was dancing. “We keep boxes at both Drury Lane and Covent Garden, of course, but I would much rather listen to a soliloquy than an aria.”

As if it was an answer rehearsed time and time again in her mind. As if she had been waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Like lightning.

“Oh? Is that so, my lady? And Lord Bridgerton is agreeable to that?” Lord Haymore tilted his head inquiringly.

_That's it!_ Anthony took off his glove. Without so much as a glance in his direction, Kate easily slid it from his hands in a manner that suggested they were one physical being so in tune with the other. They were. Kate fiddled with the glove, twirling it delicately over her fingers. Anthony was mesmerised. It didn't take much for Kate to mesmerise him. 

“I imagine Lord Bridgerton feels the same.” Kate said, looking at her husband, a slight twitch to her lips. That twitch told Anthony everything. Kate was a viscountess, and she would not let herself be embarrassed. He should have been ashamed, but Anthony found himself mad with desire. He knew he was a possessive man, but the thought of Kate wanting to own him completely and irrevocably made his blood heat.

Kate was staking a claim on him. She was telling Lord Haymore that she _knew_ , but she was above and better a hundred times over. That confidence made Anthony’s heart singe with pride.

“Lord Bridgerton goes wherever his wife goes, Haymore. The entire _ton_ knows that.” Benedict said, looking pointedly at Lord Haymore, as if lecturing him on fact. “I imagine Anthony hasn’t listened to an aria for over a year.”

“Perish the thought.” Kate murmured ever so slightly, giving Lord Haymore a smirk as she enunciated every word with that signature diction that made Anthony’s heart skip from the very first time he’d heard her voice. She straightened her shoulders and she was every inch the Viscountess she was. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, my sister Eloise is beckoning me.”

Anthony grinned wolfishly at the sight of his wife’s hips swaying as she walked across the room. As usual, he was thoroughly impressed by her. He also knew that that final smirk wasn’t just meant for Lord Haymore. It was meant for him. She was enraged—that sneaky glint in her eyes told him as much. She would be giving him hell later, and he wasn’t about to douse her fire. He was looking forward to it.

“Don’t ever speak to my wife again, Haymore.” Anthony barely spared a glance at the stunned Lord before eagerly following his wife.

A year ago, that sort of obvious yearning would have garnered him whispers and strange looks, but the ton was quite used to the Viscount being enamoured by his wife. _Lord Bridgerton goes wherever his wife goes._ The ton easily stepped aside, knowing never to get in the way of Lord Bridgerton going after his wife. They were the red sea, and he had been Moses one too many times over that the rhythm was second nature.

Kate paused just paces before joining Violet and Eloise’s circle. Anthony was behind her, of course, his nose leaning ever so slightly to sniff her hair.

“Anthony?” She murmured. Even though she had been looking straight ahead the whole time, she knew where exactly he was. They had perfected this dance long ago. All the stolen glances, quiet brushes, and stomped toes of their unusual courtship had given them a compass to each other—magnetic, she was his true north and he was hers.

“Yes?” His voice was husky, carrying with it burning desire. He placed a hand on her upper arm and stroked the soft skin with his thumb. His chest was almost against her back—almost.

“You’re mine.” Kate whispered, turning her head to the side, but not looking at him. She didn’t need to. He was listening—he was always listening to her. Her words were sonnets, and he was a delirious captive audience wanting encore after encore. Anthony licked his lips at the thought and let her continue. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He must have said it in the softest voice he could muster, for he wasn’t even sure he’d said it. Kate heard, of course. She wouldn’t have given the faintest shrug if she hadn’t. She always heard him even when he couldn’t speak.

Suddenly, Anthony realised he’d forgotten what an aria even sounded like. The Barcarolle was just that, a discordant, misplaced note in a past that wasn’t worth his present and future with Kate. His thoughts were no longer consumed by symphonies of sopranos, but by a soliloquy of passion with thrumming rhyme and meter. Who needed a melody, anyway?

_Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love._

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with this idea ever since I read On The Way To The Wedding and Kate asks Gregory if he'd ever seen her attend the opera. I'm sure during her marriage to Anthony someone must have tried to goad her into a reaction, and given Sienna's presence in the series, we'll be sure to see that amplified. 
> 
> In Season 1, Sienna sings a Barcarolle, and if Season 2 plans on having the opera singer in Aubrey Hall just like in TVWLM, then I'm sure Kate will have the chance to hear a rendition. 
> 
> Back then, only two theatres were allowed to operate, Drury Lane and the Royal Opera House (referred to as Covent Garden). 
> 
> The final lines are from Hamlet


End file.
